Himeros, Himeros
by I Bag Production
Summary: Annoyed with the "work of Himeros", Ariadne looks to Eames to help her win Arthur's affection.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. I do not own Mighty Aphrodite. I do not own Greek Mythology. But I do own a copy of a dvd set of "My So Called Life" which somehow planted this idea.**_

Aphrodite is the most well known of all Greek goddesses as she was the winged goddess of love and everyone – well nearly everyone – loves love. She was the one that played match maker and she was the one who knew when two people were soul mates, were destined for each other, and simply meant to be. And if she saw that they weren't heading in their designated locations, she did a little switch up and everything was as meant to be. Everyone, nearly everyone, knows who Aphrodite is. Partly because of the aforementioned love thing, partly because pop singers, rock stars, composers, and rap artists alike have used the passionately desired thing called love, and partly because Woody Allen wrote and directed a pretty good movie called 'Mighty Aphrodite'. No matter the reason or the way, someone, one way or another, has heard about her.

No one pays attention to the other two winged gods of love. That would be Eros and Himeros. Eros was more mischievous than the others, whereas Aphrodite made sure her soul mates were on their journey to meet one another, Eros was the asshole who shot people in the ass with an arrow depending on whether or not he thought they made a cute couple, no matter if they were soul mates or not.

And lastly Himeros. Well, Himeros was a good one. He was the god of sexual and passionate desire. He was the one behind what has been coined "unrequited love". Himeros was the reason why that guy you dumped and/or never went out with continues to call you and pick up your slack. The people stricken with the Himeros ailment will do one of two things: gaze and fantasize from afar or bury their sexual desire in whoever responds to their advances. Sometimes Himeros victims were often the victims that fell in love alone.

Despite that fact, Himeros remained Ariadne's favorite of the Greek gods and goddesses. Because love, true love, was something she never had the great privilege to experience. And she's "fallen" for people too suddenly (and gotten heart very, very painfully) which stirs up disdain for the ever asshole Eros. But desire, sexual or something more, longing, and fantasizing, that's something she can really, really relate to.

She longed for Billy Levithan in the 5th grade, but failed to say anything in fear of getting spat on. She longed for Toby Marling in the 8th grade but didn't say anything because he had a girlfriend…or two…or three. She desperately longed for Ted Devinson in the 11th grade and he was truly impeccable. He loved to read, he was smart, he was kind and sweet, he was funny, and he was built. Being a scrawny tomboy made her look away while she watched the back of his head in French class. When she finally got up the courage to say hi to him, she found that he moved away to California. Heartbreak hotel.

Now at age twenty four, she sees someone who makes her feel special. Someone who makes her feel butterflies. Someone who is handsome, smart, kind, and sexy as fuck. And the amazing thing is that she is not at all afraid to talk to him. He makes her feel comfortable, safe, and more importantly, like herself. Not to say, she doesn't get nervous sometimes because she does but she swallows it down and she speaks then before she knows it, it's like chatting with a friend.

So what's the problem this time?

"It's him!"

Ariadne looks straight into the camera on her PC and shakes her head. "It's him being so nonchalant and suave and coiffed and just so freaking beautiful and perfect! It seriously makes me wonder how in the world were demi gods even created? If this guy makes me feel like a puddle of mud sometimes and he's only human, how in the world did an average girl like me manage to not only fuck but birth the son of Poseidon?"

She shakes her head again, reaches up and fluffs her curls before pulling it up into a pony tail. She takes a sip of her, now cold, Chai tea.

"I mean, I get it. It's not professional, it's not 'safe' or whatever but really?! The other day, you know what I did?"

A couple of days ago, Ariadne was sitting with the perfect man, also called Arthur, in his office where he was giving her a rundown on the current subject matter of work. She was sitting on his desk and he was sitting in his swivel chair. Arthur mentioned something about mistresses and hotels and Ariadne, brave and forward said:

"_I used to want to be a mistress to someone. Only someone who actually loved me, of course. I'd do so many things for him."_

Ariadne screamed at the computer: "And do you know what he did?! Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!

"And there are two things wrong with that 'response'. First of all, I know he hates it when people even lay a finger on his things, even if they're only his temporarily and _hello, _ass on desk! No response. Second, was that not clear sexual innuendo? I'd do so many things for him… Earth to Arthur, you're _him _now! It's like making sexual advances to a brick wall. Sure you can flirt and suggest and strip all you want but in the end there's no chemical attraction…Except I know he's attracted to me. Because he likes to stare at me when thinks I'm not looking. Himeros' work or what?"

Ariadne looked down.

"I'm so sick of that asshole wrecking things for me. I'm Ariadne, I should be able to talk to a god and tell him when he's being a total dick."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Inception. ****I do not own Mighty Aphrodite. I do not own Greek Mythology. But I do own a copy of a DVD set of "My So Called Life" which somehow planted this idea.**

_He genuinely believes that I do not notice him when he gazes at me. He believes that I can't feel the stares burning into my back when I'm bent over the drawing table. He thinks I don't notice when he swallows gulps so thick and hard because I've overwhelmed him. I'm shocked that I can overwhelm and sure since I like him so much, there could be the faintest possibility that this is all in my head. Even so, he's a complete idiot for thinking I don't see him._

Ariadne sits in the corner of their current stakeout, holding a pen and pad in her hands. She watches Arthur with a feral like curiosity, daring to wonder what it is that he likes so much about her. She looks back down at her sketchpad and sees Arthur staring back at her. This Arthur is smiling, this Arthur is warm, and this Arthur isn't a complete pussy who won't confess his infatuation.

The click clack of his keyboard echoes through the empty space and Ariadne wishes she went on the lunch run instead of Eames. She's convinced that Arthur possesses the unique ability to make situations as comfortable as sleeping very, very awkward. She rises to her feet, placing the sketchpad and pen down on the floor. Even though as she does this, she's looking down, preparing to pull on her jacket, she can feel his eyes on her. They're virtually penetrating every fiber of her being.

"I'm going to check out the air outside," she says, not even bothering to shudder over the sentence.

Just as she's stepping over the threshold, he hears Arthur quietly:

"Please sit in the chair," his voice is harder than usual. He's bothered. "It could screw up her shoulders sitting in the corner like that. The chair is way more comfortable and there's a nice desk to go along with it-"

"Okay, I will," she shuts the door.

_He also thinks that I don't notice that the chair he picked out specifically for me is a lot more comfortable than the other two chairs. Asshole._

When she's outside, leaning against the cold bricks, she sees the red Porsche pull up next to her. She sighs and pushes herself away from the wall. Every time there's even the slightest chance that she will receive a moment of solitude, a moment to embrace clarity, there seems to be some sort of disruption. Be it Arthur's insistence on insisting that he doesn't find her at the most sexy and at the very least cute or the fact that Eames' constant jests grow on her less every day. The amusing Eames is constantly changing into the annoying Eames.

She still enjoys the latter's presence more than the former.

"You said you wanted a tuna avocado salad, yeah?" Eames says as he's getting out of the exceedingly expensive and impressively noticeable vehicle.

"Yes," she says warily. "Why? Did they not have it?" She was really hoping for some kind of meal to revel in.

"No worries, love, I got exactly what you wanted." He reaches in the back and pulls out the remainder of bags. "Arthur, however…"

"He wanted a turkey and cheese sandwich on wheat with a sliced tomato and pita chips." She recites his lunch almost as easily as she recites 'This Is Halloween'.

"Do you think he'd just as easily enjoy a hamburger and extra greasy fries?"

"I don't know. Ask him," she knows he'll hate it.

The two walk inside, Ariadne carrying her lunch and Eames lugging a bag of fast food, and Ariadne mutters a thank you.

"Don't get to excited now; you might pop a blood vessel."

"Tomorrow when I'm feeling better, I'll consider redelivering that thank you."

When the two are inside, Arthur looks at the bag in Eames' hand with wariness and suspicion. "What the hell is that?"

"It's food," Eames says. "It's nutritious. And, more importantly, it's delicious."

Arthur frowns.

* * *

Ariadne digs into the salad and chomps down on it so ferociously that she may as well be full of flaming fury. Arthur is on the phone and, of all the languages to speak in, he's speaking Italian. She once dated an Italian guy during her vacation in Rome when she was 18. His name was Roberto and he was one of the tour guides for the mass group of tourists she traveled with every couple of days. His hair was curly, his eyes were green, his lips were soft, and he was very, very good with his hands. It was only a two week long affair but it was memorable enough that she often thought about it.

Hearing Arthur speaking Italian right across from her, however, has erased Roberto's figure and shaded in his.

She watches as Arthur rises from his seat and continues the phone call outside. Her eyes follow him until the door is shut and then she lingers on that.

"What are you doing?"

Ariadne jolts awake and pulls herself up straighter. She turns toward Eames who's sitting in a swivel chair not far from hers, mulling at the burger in his hand. His eyes are studying her like as if she were a foreign virus knocking out thousands. She shrugs.

"What?" She mutters. "I'm eating."

Eames' eyes trail toward the shut door and Ariadne rolls her eyes.

"I didn't really think he was your type," he is amused.

"Oh what, you're my type?"

"No, I thought big sweaters, wire rimmed glasses, old shoes, and Etta James records was what you were privy to."

"I am," Ariadne replied bitterly. It's not fair that he can read people's minds.

"I can't read minds, I can just read people," he smiles. "Why are mad at him?"

An uncomfortable expressions settles on his face and he swallows before saying: "You two aren't…having sweaty pillow talk, are you?"

"Jesus! No, we're not."

"So back to my original question: why are you staring at him like you want to take that fork of yours and stab him in the neck?"

"He…" She trails off and stares at Eames. "Why would I tell you?"

"Because I'm cheaper than a therapist?"

She probably shouldn't tell Eames all of this but the truth is that she's not getting very far with her video diaries.  
She opens her mouth to speak when Arthur reenters the building.

"Tonight," she whispers.

She completely misses Arthur's crestfallen expression.


End file.
